


Fireworks Interrupted

by amclove



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Film, M/M, Oneshot, weekend (2011) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 04:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13182507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amclove/pseuds/amclove
Summary: Two guys, basically strangers. Two days, barely any time at all. One train station.





	Fireworks Interrupted

**Two guys, basically strangers. Two days, barely any time at all. One train station.**

**FRIDAY**

     He didn’t know why he kept doing this. Well, okay, that wasn’t necessarily the truth. PJ was his best friend; it wasn’t unusual to spend a night at his place. And Dan should want to visit with PJ, all their assorted friends, PJ’s wife. Sophie’s great, not to mention that she’d agreed to Dan’s becoming her and PJ’s daughter’s Godfather. Even despite having known PJ since they were kids, it wasn’t something Dan had _expected_. It equated to permanence, official and tangible perpetuity in someone else’s life. He sometimes didn’t feel that he was actually present in in his own life let alone another human’s. The task was daunting, and Dan wasn’t always certain it was one he even deserved.

     But his sweet, rosy-cheeked goddaughter was at her grandmother’s for the night, and so her parents had asked some mates over to hang around the place and get respectably drunk while they had the chance. Inevitably, PJ would get caught up with his other guests or his wife, and leave Dan on the couch to play a stimulating round of single-player Mario Kart, which anyone who has ever played the game can tell you: that isn’t much fun.

     Dan showed up regardless, as he always did, and accepted a hug from Sophie and a beer from PJ. He wasn’t one for the stuff, really, more of a Malibu man himself, but if beer was all there was he’d have to make do. As he had suspected, about two hours later his eyes were falling closed. He was sat on the sofa beside Jason, the beer in Dan’s hand his third for the night—like more would make it taste better?—and wanted nothing more than to be in his own cozy flat. Around him was the lilt of conversation, PJ with Charlie; Sophie and Louise, and so on, but he felt disconnected, almost alienated. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way throughout his 29 years, not by a long shot, and if he could help it he would just rather not. So he got up, patted Jason on the back, and, blaming his exit on the beers, scattered goodbyes to the rest.

     He found a seat in the rear of the bus, eyes trained on the night skidding by outside the window. How ridiculous that he couldn’t find fun with his closest friends, and opted to go home to sip tea in a recliner. What was he, his grandfather? (He felt guilty immediately after thinking this and silently apologized to his deceased grand-dad profusely.) Not to mention, he was of yet unattached and not the worst-looking guy around. But every night seemed to find him watching another re-run of _Bake-Off_ with a plate of biscuits on hand.

     Dan got off at the corner of a street he knew well and walked along the pavement until the turn that would take him to what he liked to consider the best gay bar in London: Retro. It was just his style, and not too high-key. Seeing so many people inside sometimes made him wish that he had more Not Straight friends, mates that he could talk to about… gay things. It wasn’t like he _only_ wanted to talk about gay things, but being bi meant that he could drop a fact about a woman in here or there (rarely) and his friends could almost forget that Dan wasn’t straight. And that kind of sucked. Not to mention that he on occasion almost found himself forgetting too, oddly enough. But he had an inclination towards men, always had, and so his preferences and everything else all delved into a very strange sense of identity. Almost like he had no sexuality or sense of being at all, just what he knew to feel in a moment.

     Okay and, honestly, he knew that he’d never been the greatest dancer. That meant that coming to a place like this was perfect for Dan because he could mostly sit with a drink and try to relax rather than work to impress anyone on a dance-floor. Not his forte in the least. Speaking of and despite his inability to move his body in any way that resembled ‘flattering,’ Dan’s fingers tapped against the tabletop. There went his inherent musicality from years of piano slipping out on him. His eyes wandered the place as he did this until he caught sight of a guy leaned onto the bar-top, black hair cut with such severity that it nearly fell into his eyes in a satisfying point. The only way Dan could think to describe him was striking. His button-up nearly made Dan laugh as well, as it was designed with fabric covered in what had to be tiny cacti. It was hideous and would have obviously been so on anyone else, but the stranger somehow pulled it off. Dan found himself intrigued (which wasn’t a word he would often throw around) by the man, but before he could even set his drink down Cactus had disappeared for the toilets.

     Dan wasn’t a stalker by any means, okay, but when there’s a good-looking guy involved, a bitch might sprint. It was for this reason Dan went to the toilets too, looking in the mirror in a partially-phony attempt to adjust his annoying curls. (He was glad he no longer straightened them though because, looking at old photos, he realised how mistaken he’d truly been. What a waste all those years of an hour every morning.) He washed his hands as well, not really faking his need to do so considering how gross they always felt as soon as he entered a washroom, and was relieved when the guy came to clean his hands at the sink beside his. He didn’t acknowledge Dan, of course, because why would he, and then walked right on out again. Dan was stood there for only a second before hurriedly drying his ultra-clean hands and leaving too.

     Only a few minutes later, a young man who was flamboyant and evidently excitable appeared at Dan’s little table, large smile in place. He must’ve been looking for a quick fuck, and Dan knew that. Styled hair and model-perfect teeth weren’t Dan’s turn-ons—He couldn’t judge, to be honest—but why look a gift horse in the mouth? He tried to enjoy his conversation with the boy and remain attentive, at any rate, and almost fooled himself into being attracted to him… But it was when the guy mentioned a new pair of sneakers he’d just bought that Dan knew he wouldn’t be able to muster up any more faux-interest.

     Around midnight, Dan was sort of thinking that he’d have to shag him just to avoid the guilt of wasting both their nights, since Dan was way too awkward to come out and say he held no actual interest in the kid. He was reminded of Chandler Bing, and how the relatable character had allowed a co-worker to call him Toby for two years because he was too timid to correct him. Dan was definitely a Chandler in every situation.

     Oh, well. May as well get it over with.

* * *

**SATURDAY**

     Dan poured the coffee he’d prepared into a couple mugs and, brown eyes steady on his Sasquatch hands, carried them back to his bedroom. He refused to drop hot coffee on his bare (currently socked) feet even one more time in his life.

     “I made breakfast too,” Dan informed his… date? “Are you hungry?”

     “I’m probably always hungry,” Phil replied. His eyebrows, a shade lighter than the hair atop his head, lifted at the mug Dan held. “Is that for me, then?”

     “If you want it.”

     “I’m a right monster in the morning without coffee,” he said, extending a hand to accept the mug. “I’ll wait for you here, unless you need my help…”

     “No, no, I’m alright. Just one second.” Dan couldn’t believe this was happening. Not that he hadn’t ever made breakfast for a ‘date’ before but still. Each occasion felt weirder than the last. Especially this time around. He set the eggs, scrambled, with bacon onto two plates, and was going to bring them back to the bedroom when he saw that Phil had wandered into the kitchen and settled at the table. They sat there, then, and poked at their eggs.

     “So what brought you to the club last night?” Phil asked, blue eyes bright behind his glasses. He’d removed his contacts hours ago and Dan was surprised to find that he was somehow even more attractive with the glasses on, like some kind of hot professor. Totally unfair considering if Dan were to wear glasses, he mostly resembled a sad kid in intermediate school. Puberty had seen Dan and kept walking.

     “Boredom,” Dan told Phil, truthful. Lying wore him out. “You?”

     Phil nodded. “Probably the same, I’d say. Hate being cooped up too long; makes me antsy. I blame it on my travel sickness.”

     “Travel sickness? Sounds shit.”

     Phil grinned and lifted his slender shoulders. If Dan had to guess, he would say Phil was a dancer. “Can’t say you’re wrong.”

     “You from around London?” Dan enquired.

     “Up north some,” replied Phil. “Different from ’round here.”

     “I’ve never been. Is it anything to see?”

     “The mountains, maybe, the rivers. That’s what I miss.” Phil scooped up the last bit of scrambled eggs. He had poured syrup on them, and Dan had the same aversion to it as he did eggs with ketchup. He didn’t say this aloud though. “The people, not so much.”

* * *

 

     “What time d’you have to be out?” Phil asked Dan.

     “Got to be at the office around 10.” Dan rolled onto his side, unwilling to go anywhere right now. Phil was beside him much the same, and the light from outside filtered in to bathe him and the sheets in a soft glow. “It’s later weekends, thank Jesus.”

     “D’you have time to do me a favor?”

     Dan craned his neck to see the alarm clock, aware that it was only a little past eight. “What?”

     Phil was suddenly standing and on his way to his jacket; it had been tossed over the chair beside the dresser the night before. He wore tight grey boxers and nothing else, which served as quite the distraction to Dan this morning. Flopping back onto the mattress, Phil revealed a tape recorder from his jacket’s pocket. He pressed it on.

     “Seeing as Anastasia signed a NDA, I can safely assume that if you want to record whatever’s about to happen, you aren’t another Christian Grey.” Dan paused. “Unless you and he both keep a detailed record of your encounters just to be safe in case—”

     “I’m not a weirdo,” Phil assured him. “To some people—yeah. But I was under the impression that _you_ just might have a bit more sense than them.” Dan didn’t say anything to the contrary, so Phil went on. “It’s for an art piece I’m working on, just listening to anyone who’ll talk.”

     “About what? Tragic backstories?”

     “No. Their sex life.”

     Dan was surprised. “Can’t say I was expecting that one. But okay.”

     “Why else would I want to record you?”

     “Just go, I guess,” Dan insisted. “Ask me whatever it is you ask those other… interviewees.”

     “Well, we’ll talk about us. How’d we meet last night?”

     Dan snorted. “Like hell if I remember.”

     “Shut up,” Phil said, nudging him. “You remember; don’t be dense, Dan.”

     “We met at Retro Bar last night, obviously I recall that,” Dan said, propped against his headboard. “I saw you there, stood at the counter.”

     “And?” Phil urged. “What then?”

     “Too much alcohol. Sorry.”

     “Dan.”

     “Plead the fifth.” Phil didn’t flinch, and Dan let out a breath. He should’ve known an American rule wouldn’t apply here. “Come on; I didn’t know how weird this would make me feel!”

     “Why’s it make you feel weird?”

     Dan rolled his eyes over to Phil and stated, as though it should be obvious, “Because it’s my personal business? Being recorded?”

     “ _Our_ personal business. Don’t forget I was there too.” Phil watched him, innocent, and Dan didn’t know what to say. Like _hell_ he could forget.

     “I saw you and wondered what the hell had swayed you to wear a shirt with cacti on it.” Phil laughed loudly, caught off guard by Dan’s flippant response, and Dan grinned. “As soon as you saw me it was blatantly clear that you had zero interest, seeing as you went to the toilets right that second. And I was way too drunk, I can acknowledge that now, because I followed you.”

     A smile tugged at Phil’s lips. “Hoping to score in a stall, were you?”

     “Not in the least.”

     “I was just trying to have a _second_ to myself and you go after me,” Phil teased. “You know how sometimes when you go to a urinal in a restaurant or something and someone starts talking to you while you’re trying to have a wee? It’s like, can this be a private moment, maybe?”

     “Like, _I’m holding my penis, let’s not chat_.” Dan couldn’t help his grin, and Phil had to laugh at the sing-song playfulness to Dan’s remark.

     “Okay, okay,” he said, fixing a straight face, “what happened after that?”

     Dan’s fingers tapped against his stomach as he thought. Ever conscious about his ‘squishy tum,’ as PJ put it, he’d yanked a shirt over it as soon as his eyes had opened those hours ago. “I was alone for a while and then this guy Andrew sat with me. We talked for a while…”

     “And then I felt so bad for your misfortune that I had to step in and save you from him,” Phil concluded.

     “He wasn’t so bad as all that!”

     “He was probably 12,” Phil surmised, all seriousness.

     Dan whacked Phil’s chest, unable to hide his laugh. “You’re honestly terrible. What am I supposed to even say now? You’ve distracted me beyond repair.”

     “We left the club, yeah?” Phil prompted. “What did we do then? What did you want to happen?”

     “We got on the bus and came back here. Came inside.” Dan scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. He needed a shower, desperately; he wouldn’t be surprised if he resembled a poodle after a romp in slush. “I really don’t remember what happened then.”

     “We came inside,” Phil repeated, “and what? You jacked me off by the front door?”

     Dan made a sound to portray his shock. “Jesus, Phil!” He leaned closer to the tape recorder and said louder, “That never happened! Not in my front hall, not anywhere. For the record.”

     Phil pulled the tape recorder away from Dan’s face and laughed. “See! You _do_ remember. I’ll help. I took your shirt off. Yes?”

     “Yes.” Dan could still feel it, the pressure of Phil’s hands against the skin above the lining of his boxers.

     “I knew you were okay with it by the way you tried to grab mine as well…”

     “Isn’t that the next logical step in this situation?” Dan asked, anxious all of a sudden that, even after already having slept with Phil (Phil, the man who had eaten Dan’s breakfast and who rested beside Dan this very second!), he had done something wrong from the get-go.

     “Yes, yes,” Phil said quickly. “No worries.”

     “Jesus. I’m too young for a heart attack.” Dan played at the sheet where it fluttered against his abdomen. “You kissed me, before that, by the way. Before taking my shirt off. So I kissed your neck.”

     Phil grinned and gave Dan’s lips a little brush with his own. “And you said your memory of last night was shit.”

     “Not totally,” Dan said, leaning into Phil’s touch, despite himself. “Did you mean what you said? About talking me out of anything with Andrew for my own sake?”

     “Dan. Don’t be dense,” Phil said again, but this time it was gentler, and Dan was falling into eyes that were far too crystalline for their own good. “You aren’t a terrible bloke to hang around, you’re aware of that?”

     “On occasion the thought does present itself…” Dan shrugged. “And I’d hope not. I mean, I hope that you came over because you truly wanted me. You were lovely.”

     Phil’s lips curled up at the corners as his eyes searched Dan’s face. “Am I? What a thought that is. _Lovely_.”

     “Did you need anything else?” Dan asked him, after they’d both fallen quiet for a few minutes. “I can burn bread. And pasta.”

     “No. I’m rather content as we are.”

* * *

     They exchanged numbers and Phil was off. Dan watched him from the doorway of his apartment walk down to the lift, saw a neighbor kiss his one-night-stand in a way that Dan would never have dared in public. He’d barely kept himself from shaking Phil’s hand, for fuck’s sake. His face and neck turned red in anger he knew he should be past at this point in his life and hurriedly turned to shut the door. He had to get ready for work.

     Not that he hated being a lawyer, but some days were certainly slower than others. This Saturday was one of those days, and by lunch around two Dan was sure he was going to explode. Poking at a salad he had no interest in, he had sat down with some other men at a table in the break-room and, unfortunately, was now being forced to listen to their conversation. He didn’t want to hear a word of it, and felt horrible for the girl that they were speaking about. He got up and left, deciding that if he were really needed in the office, they could give him a ring at home.

     On the tube, he messaged Phil for the second time that day. The first had been a complaint of boredom around noon, and Phil had merely sent a cheeky emoji with its tongue out in response. This time, Dan asked Phil to hang out, and he suggested meeting at Dan’s. He smiled, trying not to feel too surprised that Phil was willing to spend more time around Dan. Like he’d said, he wasn’t too awful. It was just that Dan’s annoying brain had a rough go at accepting that, it always had.

     “How was your day at the office, dear?” Phil asked Dan. They’d decided on a walk around the city to pass some time, and the breeze was rustling Dan’s curls, putting a rosy color in his cheeks. He looked absolutely to-die for, but Phil wasn’t going to come out and say that like this was some sort of romance film.

     “Well, to begin, the men at lunch couldn’t stop gushing about what a terrible shag Jim had involved with the other night,” Dan said. “I’ve heard ‘fingers’ and ‘squelch’ in one sentence and I never intend to use either in my lifetime, ever again.”

     “Sounds interesting.”

     “Believe it.”

     “Dan just trying to eat a salad and he’s subjected to that?” Phil _tsk_ ed. “Shameful.”

     Dan pretended to be offended and sent a side-glare Phil’s direction. “Hey, mate, don’t get any ideas about me: I don’t eat salads.” As if he’d give Phil the satisfaction of that truth.

      “First the squelching fingers, now this. Sorry, Dan.” Phil was laughing even as Dan shoved him, his smile making his dimples stand out.

     “How deep _are_ your dimples?” Phil asked as he looked at them.

     Dan pretended to think. “I’d reckon about 17 feet deep, respectively.”

     “And have they got names?”

     “The left is called Derek, after a caddy I had when my father made me golf with him for the first and last time, and the right is Sam, a surfer I met at the beach when I was 13.” Dan spoke without a hint of a laugh, and if it hadn’t been for his grin afterward, Phil would’ve believed every word.

* * *

     Once they were situated at Phil’s small kitchen table, Dan asked, “So what is it you do again? I’ve forgotten.”

     “Very nice,” Phil said, but he was smiling. “I’m in art, actually, you know the gallery downtown?”

     “That’s you?” Dan seemed a little bashful. “I’ve never been.”

     “It’s okay if you don’t like art, Dan, I won’t hold it against you.”

     “Just because I haven’t been to a gallery doesn’t mean I hate art, okay?” Dan said, sharper than he’d meant to. Why did he always over-react? To ease the uncalled-for blow, he went on, “Maybe I’ll go sometime.” He watched Phil sip his tea. “Have you ever been to the States?”

     “Tons. My family has a house in Florida, so we holiday there. You?”

     “Never. I want to, though. Spend a day doing my horrible American accent and see if anyone can tell I’m from Manchester.” Dan felt the tension in his shoulders lessen in the slightest when Phil laughed at his joke. He took a glance around the kitchen and said, “You have so much stuff. Looks like you raided a charity shop.” Dan’s eyes widened and he closed them tightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that—”

     “No, you’re right,” Phil agreed. “This is all my mother’s, or grandmother’s. I hate new stuff.” He removed a mug from the cabinet and held it up. “This is from an actual shop, and I like to imagine it was owned by some old woman with two tabby cats. It was her favorite thing, a gift from her grand-kids when they were young, but when she died and they had to sell her things, they decided they hated it, and sold it. It ended up in that charity shop, and now my tiny kitchen.” Phil’s smile was soft, and Dan had to tear his eyes away with a clearing of this throat.

     “So I’ve been thinking about this morning,” he said. “The uh—the tape recorder.” Phil watched him, expectant. “You really don’t have to tell me if you can’t be bothered but—how will those recordings end up as art and not just… people talking dirty?”

     Phil quirked an eyebrow over his mug of tea and set it down. “Talking about sex is dirty?”

     “No, I mean—like I’m not too convinced that what other people want is to hear about the sex lives of strangers,” Dan said.

     “But don’t they gossip?” Phil questioned. “Watch programs on television with the exact same premise? Mine’s just the audio without the visual. That is, unless you’ve got imagination.”

     “I suppose…”

     “Imagine, Dan, that everyone was just open about that stuff,” Phil said. “It’s like giving power to a word, any word, really: it means nothing—we just _gave_ it meaning.”

     Dan tilted his head from where he stood against the window’s ledge. “But people _are_ open, aren’t they? Jim had no trouble discussing his fingers at lunch.”

     “Was he gay?”

     “No.”

     “Well, there’s your answer,” answered Phil. “He wouldn’t have bragged about any of it if it had been his fingers up another _man’s_ ass, you can be sure of that. Gay people never talk about it in public unless it’s by way of innuendo.” Dan had to admit that Phil was right. He thought again of PJ, how—even after years of friendship—Dan was never remotely explicit regarding his encounters with other men for fear that PJ would become uncomfortable.

     “Okay, but what does any of this have to do with the recordings?” Dan asked again. “You’re just going to play them and hope some straight folks get grossed out?”

     “I’m not sure I can explain it,” Phil replied honestly. Dan looked expectant, so he took a breath. “Alright. Well, my thinking is that when you first sleep with someone you don’t know… they’re a stranger, right? You—you become this blank canvas, and it gives you an opportunity to project onto that canvas who you want to be. Everybody does it, but the question is _why_?

     “See, because while you’re projecting to this stranger who you _want_ to be, this gap opens up between who you want to be and who you really are. All anyone wants is to understand what’s stopping them from becoming the person they want to be. The gap is the hopes that they figure it out.” Dan had no idea how to begin a response, he could hardly wrap his head around Phil’s words. “I’m sorry, I probably haven’t explained it well in the least; it sounds better in my head, everything always does.”

     “No, no, I’m interested, I swear,” Dan promised. “It’s just, my question from earlier still stands, but more specifically: why would any straight person want to hear conversations about gay sex? It doesn’t apply to their world.”

     Phil looked at Dan so intently that Dan almost couldn’t maintain the contact. “That’s exactly my problem. They have no qualm with seeing images of murder, or struggling refugees, rape victims—things which they only give a damn about in the _second_ they see the picture—but gay sex?” Phil blew a stream of air from between his lips. “I mean, the straight narrative is there for you to inherit from birth. Always has been. All the books, all the films, all the TV shows, everything is just… ‘Guy meets girl, they fall in love, never know the meaning of _disagreement_.’ It’s bull. It needs to be changed.” Phil turned his wandering attention back to Dan just as Dan said, “I don’t know about you, but the couch is calling my name.”

     “No arguments here.” Phil followed after Dan and, seated again, he ran his finger along the curl that always seemed to drape itself over Dan’s forehead. Dan’s eyes tracked Phil’s as they examined the strand. “Are you out to your parents?” At Dan’s raised-eyebrows look, Phil elucidated with a smile, “You don’t seem like the kind of boy who would be out to his parents.”

     “It’s… complicated.”

     “Is it?” Phil asked, gaze landing on Dan’s face. “It isn’t like you have much choice in it, you know? Like doing coke or something, that’s a choice you make. But you say you’re gay and they either deal with out or they don’t.”

     “Being bi complicates it,” Dan told him. “They know that I’m not straight, but I think they’re still convinced that my ‘gay side’ is a phase I have yet to grow out of.” Phil snorted. “They don’t realise I prefer men. But my friends know, always have.”

     Phil continued to play with his hair, though they were sat a good couple of feet apart. “My parents don’t care, really. Being bisexual gives them the gleam of hope that I could end up with a woman and give them more grandchildren, but I’ve just about told them in every possible way that Martyn’s about all they’re getting by way of prospects.”

     “Martyn’s your…?”

     “Brother,” supplied Phil. “He and Cornelia have only just got married, though, so I’m not anticipating little screaming ones for a while yet. Do you like kids?”

     “I do. Even when I was younger, my biggest dream was to have a nice house,” Dan reminisced, “three children, plenty of dogs. The American dream, I guess.”

     “I’m not too good with them. Kids, I mean.”

     “Oh, they adore me,” Dan said, but he didn’t sound at all like he was bragging and so Phil found the words irrationally sweet. The image of Dan cradling a baby (that wasn’t crying), her tiny hand wrapped steadfastly around Dan’s finger… It wasn’t the worst thing Phil had pictured today. “I can’t see why.”

     “I can,” Phil murmured. He found he was smiling softly at Dan, and Dan’s cheeks tinted.

     “It’s past five,” he noted. “I should probably be heading home.”

     “Of course.” Phil stood and Dan did the same, walking to the door behind the former. “So, I’ll… see you later?”

     “You have my number,” Dan said with a joking tone. Phil hadn’t been able to help himself: he really liked Dan, which wasn’t good at all. Maybe he shouldn’t have spent the day thinking about him, and having tea with a side-order of deep topics certainly hadn’t solved anything.

     “Dan, I need to tell you something,” Phil said in a quick breath.

     “You have a boyfriend, don’t you? A girlfriend?” Dan looked so dejected but unsurprised, and Phil wondered just how many times someone had let him down. He hated to be the next.

     “No, nothing like that. It’s just, I’m… I’m going away.”

     “A holiday?” Dan didn’t hide his relief, he wasn’t under any pretense of being cool enough to do so. “That’s cool. To where?”

     “Palo Alto. In California.”

     “That’s awesome! If it were me, I’d be Mexican-brown two days in,” Dan said, grinning. Phil wasn’t returning the smile though, and Dan had to admit that he was a tad worried.

     “Dan, it isn’t a holiday,” Phil confessed. “It’s—I’m doing an art course. ‘Contemporary Perspectives of Modern Art in the 21st Century.’”

     “Okay, so how long will you be there?”

     “Two years,” Phil said, with no cushion to the admission. Not for the first time, he winced at his absence of tact. “Maybe more.”

     Dan’s mouth opened, and nothing came from it. Then he managed to say, “Phil, that’s really great.”

     “I should’ve told you before, when you mentioned the States…”

     “No, Phil, seriously, it’s brilliant,” Dan assured him. “You didn’t have to tell me, anyway, we’ve known each other for like a day, in total.”

     “Yeah. I just. You know.” _Saw you standing there with the softest hair I’ve ever touched and the softest cheeks I’ve ever held and I wanted you—to know—wanted you to care. I wanted you—_

     “When do you leave?” Dan enquired, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was in the doorway, almost in the hall, but he felt too awkward to move. He had his shoulders slightly hunched, as if to shrink himself down to less of a six-foot-three mammoth. It didn’t work.

     “Sunday. I’m going for drinks tonight with some friends as a last hurrah, as they called it.” Dan was nodding and Phil felt like a jackass. “You should come. To get drinks. It’d be cool.”

     “I don’t want you to feel like you have to invite me, Phil, it’s okay.”

     “No, really, come with me,” Phil repeated. “I mean it.” Dan’s lack of response pushed Phil to go on, “I’ll text you the info if you decide you want to, okay? And if you really don’t feel like it, that’s fine. The invite stands.”

     “Okay,” Dan said.

* * *

     Dan’s cell rang an hour later. He’d been staring at the address and time Phil had messaged him, unable to decide whether or not he would be going. He wanted to, way too much, but what would be the point? Phil was leaving for a state across the fucking world in two days, anyway, and they would—most likely—never see each other ever again. Just thinking such a thing made Dan’s intestines convulse.

     He picked up the call and heard PJ greet him. “A bunch of us are doing dinner at Erica’s,” he told Dan. “Seven o’clock. You can make it, right?”

     “I actually don’t know,” Dan said, tentative. “I might have plans.”

     “Yeah?” PJ said, with enough good grace to sound attentive but not astonished. Dan wasn’t known for a raging social life. “Anything cool?”

      “A date, I think. Sort of. I kind of… Well, I guess I met someone,” Dan managed to say.

      “Good for you, Dan! Guy or girl?”

      Dan fiddled with his duvet. “Guy. His name is Phil.”

      “What’s he like?” PJ asked.

      “He’s… way more interesting than me, for one. Gorgeous. A ridiculous sense of humor.”

      “A match crafted by God himself, I can already tell,” PJ teased. “Anyway, there’s no one more interesting than you! He better treat you right, Danny boy.”

      “I don’t think that should be a problem…” PJ was silent, a sign that Dan should go on. “He’s going away. Like, to the States. He has an art course there and he thinks he’ll be there for two years, if not more.”

      PJ breathed out in disappointment on his friend’s behalf. “Better make the most of what time you’ve got then, yeah?”

      “Yeah. Thanks, PJ.” PJ wasn’t sure what Dan had to thank him for, but he didn’t know that his last remark had settled Dan’s decision-dilemma: he _would_ be going to the pub tonight. If nothing else, all this meant he had nothing to lose.

     When he walked in, the place seemed to-capacity and it was only five minutes past eight. It took him a moment to spot Phil, who was stood against the bar as he chatted with the bartender, a young woman. Phil’s eyes found Dan when his attention slipped in the slightest, and his smile lifted. He waved for Dan to come over and Dan obliged.

     “Hey!” Phil greeted him. “I wasn’t sure you’d come!”

     “Me neither,” admitted Dan. “But here I am. Why this place?”

     Without replying, Phil grabbed Dan’s arm and pulled him over to a table of four people. “Someone to introduce, don’t be asses about it. This is Dan.” They all looked nice enough, but then again, Dan had never been great when it came to judging strangers’ intentions. “Dan, this is Carrie, Zoe, Caspar, and Chris.”

     Dan waved a little. Everyone was moderately attractive (if not bordering on beautiful), friendly enough, and he wasn’t sure where he would fit tonight. But he’d certainly try to find a place among them.

     Easier said than done, as usual, but he found Chris had a good sense of humor and Carrie was very sweet as well. Her laugh was huge, bright, and Dan adored it. Phil had strolled off to chat with other bar-attendees, while Dan opted to stay with his friends.

     “Is he always like that?” Dan asked. He’d accidentally found himself staring—not really new by this point—at Phil where he stood across the pub. Phil was going on about something or other, and what snippets Dan managed to decipher worked around to the tape recordings and the hetero-normativity that is society.

     “What? A champion for LGBTQA rights?” Carrie couldn’t help her laugh. “Mostly, yeah. Why do you think he chose a straight bar?”

     “Uh, because you’re all straight?”

     Chris, leaned back in his chair, shook his head of dark hair. “Well, sure, she and Zoe are, but I’m pan. Cas is aro-ace. We’d be fine at a gay bar, just Phil likes to make a production. Be the big, rainbow fish in a pool of minnows.”

     “That’s why we’re a tad worried about him going to the States,” Zoe said. Her blue eyes held sincerity, but Dan was still taken aback by her words.

     “Why?” he said. “You don’t think he’s good enough to make it?”

     “No, it isn’t that at all,” Carrie disagreed quickly. “Phil’s talented, more than anyone I know.” She prodded Chris’ arm when he made a noise of offended disapproval. Amused, Caspar’s lips curled into a grin around the chip he’d been biting. “I just understand him, that’s all. He does this.”

     “I mean like, once, he signed up to teach in Africa, was it?” Zoe released a breath. “Well, that was just after he and Stephen called it quits…”

     “And then he stopped ‘doing boyfriends’ and ended up going to Africa for a year just to distance himself from everything,” Carrie finished.

     “He can be a bit dramatic,” Chris explicated.

     “And Stephen was a prick, anyhow, what with all the times he cheated on Phil.” Dan could see the disgust written plainly across Caspar’s face. Dan felt it in his gut, the horrific idea that anyone would think Phil wasn’t enough.

     “He always swore that it didn’t matter, but he’s not a terribly brilliant liar,” Carrie said. “And then he got beat up in the park…”

     “ _Phil_?”

     “No, no, Stephen. He almost died, and Phil came back from Africa… We just barely stopped him from jumping back into a relationship with Stephen.” Zoe shook her head. “That’s why we’re happy he’s met you; you seem kind.”

     Dan’s eyes fell to his hands, which were twisted in his lap. “Yeah, well. Phil doesn’t deserve someone that treats him badly.”

     “Yeah, maybe one day he’ll believe that,” Chris said, disappointment lacing his tone.

* * *

 

     What had to be less than thirty minutes later, Dan was being dragged out of the bar by Phil. They’d barely exchanged goodbyes, and Dan felt more than a little rude at having ran off like they had. He voiced this to Phil, who said in response, “Not a fan of farewells.”

     “Well, I had fun,” Dan said, and was surprised to find he meant it. He wouldn’t terribly mind the opportunity to see Carrie again; she was funny and her smile was genuine, so it seemed as though it were just for the person she focused it on. That was pretty rare, he thought. Phil had that sort of look about him too. “I like your friends. It was nice to be around other LGBT people for once.”

     “Oh, that’s what you’re going with?” Phil laughed. “Don’t do that.”

     “What?”

     “You’re going to say, ‘It was great being around my own kind. They talk about all the same things, we’ve got all this stuff in common.’” Dan thought back to the discussion: it had ranged from Phil all the way to fabrics that were particularly itchy. Dan had to say that Phil was more than a little off in his prediction. “But it’s just not like that, you know?”

     “I know. It was just nice,” Dan said again. He left it at that, and Phil didn’t push it.

     “I can’t wait to get out of here,” he said, once they’d boarded the tube. Dan glanced over at him, eyebrows drawn.

     “You don’t mean that.”

     “Maybe I don’t,” Phil conceded. “Just, my friends… sometimes it seems like they’re a noose around my neck, do you know what I mean?”

     “I’ve got to be honest with you, Phil, I have no idea what you mean.”

     “It’s like, when you’ve had the same friends for ages, everything blends together and feels so permanent.” Phil’s head rested against the seat, forward-facing and thoughtful. “They want you to stay the same, you know? Like, they won’t let you be any version of yourself except an old version, the version that they want you to be because it’s the one they know best.”

     “And you want to change?” Dan said. “Well, I like you the way you are.”

     “You would.” Phil grinned at Dan lightly. Part of Dan wished that Phil would kiss him, right here on the tube for everyone to see. “My leaving… I’m trying to redraw myself.”

     “Of course. You being the artist you are.”

     “You’ve got it.” Phil sighed. “But everyone keeps hiding my pencil.”

* * *

 

     They decided on Dan’s for the night, and a Kill Bill marathon just for the hell of it. Around midnight, Dan asked the question that had burrowed itself into his mind an hour before: “Was your first crush a boy or a girl?”

     Phil raised his eyebrows, a bowl of popcorn situated on his lap. “Girl. Buffy Summers.”

     Dan laughed and nudged him. “But that doesn’t count, does it?”

     “Tell that to 12-year-old me! Jesus. That wasn’t just a _crush_. I’ve still got my cut-out somewhere.” Dan snorted as Phil shook his head. “Hey, okay. What about you, then?”

     “It was a boy. I was only nine, though, so…” Phil motioned for Dan to go on. “Dark blonde, green eyes. I wanted to be his best friend, and I realised weeks after he’d moved away that I’d also wanted to hold his hand.”

     “Aw,” Phil said. He kissed Dan’s cheek. “That’s adorable.”

     “Yeah, sure.” Dan fidgeted with the blanket he’d draped over their legs. “You know your tape thing?” Phil hummed. “Well, I have something similar.”

     Phil looked back to Dan, eyes wide. “How so?”

     “Mine’s private, not public, like yours.” Dan was turning red while he picked up his laptop from the table beside the couch where they reclined. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

     “I will die if you don’t,” Phil swore. He was dramatic, wasn’t he. Dan showed the screen to Phil, where he’d opened a doc entitled _hookups_. Phil’s mouth hung open slightly. The latest entry read, _He was good-looking and normal, which was nice. Not too camp. On the third date he told me that when he came out to his parents, they refused to ever talk about it. He said he didn't care but it was obvious he did. He plays guitar, so to stop us talking about his family he sang me a song._

Phil burst out a laugh, unable to hide it. “Are you actually kidding?”

     “No. I was mortified. I knew I’d never be able to see him again but I stayed the night, because I felt so horrible for him.”

     “Wimp,” Phil teased. “God.”

     “I’ve freaked you out, haven’t I?” Dan covered his face with his hands. “I’ve totally freaked you out.”

     “Not at all. You’re a _freak_ , but that’s okay.” Dan groaned and dropped his head into Phil’s chest as Phil went on laughing. The vibration of the hearty sound beneath Dan was such a welcome turn from his usual night in that he almost blurted so out loud, right then, just to see what Phil would say. “Have you showed this to PJ?”

     Ignoring the brush of cool air that appeared, Dan jumped up off Phil and his heat. “No! Why the hell would I do that?”

     “I don’t know. Maybe cuz he’s your best friend?” Dan stared at Phil blankly. “See? That right there. You’re _conforming_.”

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dan asked, feeling like he should be offended but was currently unsure why.

     “Imagine your friends’—all straight might I add—imagine their reactions if you suddenly started getting all really political about being bi, or you got suddenly like camp and swishy, or talked about rimming all the time. They’d hate to be around you.”

     “Jesus, Phil, does it matter? That isn’t who I am, is it?” Dan said. “Why should I just shove it down their throats? To prove a point?”

     “Because they shove it down _our_ throats _all the time_ , being straight. Straight story lines on television, everywhere, in books, on billboards, in magazines. But us? We mustn’t upset the straights!”

      “Why do you do that?” Dan demanded. “Always with the segregation, like we need to be separate from one another. We’re all _people_. _The_ straights, _the_ gays. It’s not necessary. And what, you think it’ll be all that different in America?” Phil’s jaw was set. “Have you ever even been properly alone, Phil?”

      “Of course I have.”

     “I mean sat in a hotel room all by yourself, no friends—properly _alone_.”

     “Yes.”

     Dan shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Phil, in a _week_ you’re going to go completely mental. Nobody can deal with being by themselves.”

     “Well, maybe I’m not like those people, then.”

     Dan leaned away from Phil. He wanted to stand up, but he forced himself to stay seated. “And why’re you so condescending? I mean, it’s like you want everybody to think independently, but you want everyone to fucking agree with you. Some people just want to be _happy_ , Phil.”

     “Are you happy, Dan?” Phil enquired, his tone too calm.

     “Yes! Sure, things could be better, but I’m alright.”

     “Sure you are.”

     Dan did shove off the sofa now. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare act like you understand me. You think just because I can’t walk around the fucking streets holding hands with a guy or talk to my mates about cock—you think that means you know me.”

     “When did I say that?” Phil asked.

     “You probably think I’m a naïve asshole for wanting a relationship, too. But I can see it in you, Phil. You want one just as much as me.”

     “No, I don’t.”

     “I don’t believe you,” Dan repeated. “Stephen messed everything up—”

     Phil’s eyes flashed. “Don’t go there. I don’t care that he cheated on me, for the record. I care that he was a liar and had no sense of what it meant to stand up for himself. But I won’t tell you that I’m broken because of it, even if it’s easier than the truth.”

     “Phil.”

     “I need to use the toilet.” He pushed off and away from Dan, toward the hall, and Dan sank onto the sofa. His breaths were shallow and there was a ball in his throat.

* * *

     Phil emerged from the bathroom after ten minutes had passed by. It was quiet, and Dan had thought that he could distract himself with Crossy Road. It wasn’t working. Shocking that he’d been wrong.

     When he saw Phil, he turned off the phone without thinking and stood up. His hands were useless in his pockets, and he didn’t know what to say.

     “I was an ass,” Phil said.

     “No, I was an ass,” Dan said. “We were both… asses.”

     “Completely.” He took a cautious step toward Dan. “And you were right; I do sometimes… I come off like I know everything but I don’t. Of course I don’t.”

     “You know enough,” Dan said, quieter.

     “Not when it comes to things like this. I tend to get weird.”

     “So do I,” Dan said with perhaps a bit too much relief. “I—I’m the worst offender of anything weird in these situations, okay, Phil, trust me.”

     “But I shouldn’t have said what I said, about your friends.” Phil wanted to hold Dan’s hand. Like badly. So badly that it was pathetic. “You were right, I don’t know them and I’m sure you all have a good thing between you. I just get into it all, and I can’t find an off switch…”

     Dan took Phil’s hand. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have trashed your work in that program; you’ll be brilliant, obviously.”

     Phil collapsed onto the couch and eagerly welcomed Dan into his arms. It was scary how familiar Dan’s weight against him was after so short a time.

     “You know, I don’t think about it,” Dan murmured into Phil’s jumper.

     “Hm?”

     “What I am. Who I like. I just… It doesn’t matter, you know? I don’t care and I don’t even think about it. Sometimes with my family I’ll feel embarrassed, but here I don’t feel that.” He wasn’t sure if he meant ‘here’ as in home or ‘here’ as in where he rested on this man he’d met so recently, but it didn’t make a difference. “I don’t feel ashamed or awkward, and I don’t… No way in hell would I trade it all to be straight.”

     Phil kissed Dan, and he lingered for an extra second before whispering, “You know what I’d have said if you came out to me?”

     “What d’you mean?” Dan asked.

     “Like if I were your dad—”

     “Oh, Jesus.” Phil grinned and tightened his hold on Dan.

     “No, okay, hey. If you were my son,” Phil said, “and you told me you like men, do you know what I’d say?”

     Dan rolled his eyes but decided to humor the guy. “No. What would you say, Phil?”

     “‘You know what, Dan?’” Phil recited. “It doesn’t matter to me. I love you just the same. And guess what?’”

     “What?” Dan asked, his lips twitching.

     “I couldn't be more proud of you than if you were the first man on the moon.”

     “Oh, that’s _cheesy_ ,” Dan protested, hiding his face in Phil’s shirt.

     “Oi, it’s supposed to be cheesy!” Phil retorted. He laughed and Dan kissed him hard, and they didn’t talk for a little while after that.

* * *

**SUNDAY**

     Dan awoke in Phil’s bed naked to the waist and he didn’t give a shit. He stayed put and stared up at the ceiling, and he tried to memorize the way the mattress felt against his bare back. Then he flipped to his stomach, and then his side, and then Phil walked in.

     He handed Dan a mug and a smile. “Good morning. Plans for today?”

     “My goddaughter’s birthday,” Dan said. He smiled a little at the thought of her light curls. “She’ll be six.”

     “Is your family religious?”

     “I’m not, really. But PJ’s my best friend, so it came with the territory.” Dan lifted his eyes off the coffee and to Phil’s face. “What time’s your train?”

     “Why d’you want to know?” Phil teased. “Planning to show up at the station and serenade me? Beg me to stay?” Dan sipped his coffee with a slight, non-committal shrug. Phil let it go, and Dan didn’t ask again for the departure time.

* * *

     Lily yanked open the door with her little hands and nearly screamed when she saw it was Dan at the door. He quickly set her gift onto the porch in time for her to launch herself into his arms.

     “Uncle Dan!” she squealed, arms locked around his neck.

     “It’s me, bean!” He settled her onto the ground and held up the box he had paid good money to have wrapped. He himself had no skills to do so. “Happy birthday to the smartest, most fantastic girl in the known universe.”

     Lily giggled and accepted the present, turning on her heel and running back inside to find her mommy. PJ appeared from around the corner and laughed. “Good to see you, man,” he said to Dan. “How’re you doin’?”

     “Alright. She seems excited.”

     “Another year, another day in our household,” PJ said. They came upon the living room where Lily sat in a circle with her friends.

     “What do you call a girl sitting in the middle of a tennis court?” Lily asked the group. After a suitable waiting period she shouted, “ _Annette_!” and the kids applauded and cheered her cleverness.

     “We’ve had to help her for days with these jokes. Painstaking,” PJ whispered to Dan, who snorted. PJ glanced over his way. “Sure you’re okay?”

     Dan looked at PJ. “What? Yeah, I told you I’m fine.”

     “Well, you don’t seem fine. Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

     Dan sighed and wandered into the kitchen to avoid holding this conversation in front of a bunch of six-year-olds. “I don’t know, alright? It just feels weird to talk about this with you.”

     “Dan, you’re my best friend,” PJ said, as though Dan required reminding. “My daughter’s godfather. We’re supposed to _talk_ , tell each other things.”

     Dan pressed his back against the granite island. “Not this kind of stuff.”

     “What? Men?” PJ rolled his eyes. “Dan, come on.”

     “PJ, I don’t know! It’s stupid, really. I mean, he’s just a guy I met two days ago, you know, I met him _two days ago_. He doesn’t know me, I don’t know him.” Dan put his fingers to his temples. “Two days is _nothing_. I don’t know, I just feel like a bit of a twat for feeling… the way I do even though he’s leaving today. Jesus.”

     “Dan, you are a twat, but not about this,” PJ said. Dan made a noise of displeasure and PJ grinned, just a bit. “He’s moving to America, yeah?”

     “Yeah.”

     “So I’ll drive you to the train station.”

     “Peej, no,” Dan said quickly. “It’s my goddaughter’s birthday; I need to be here.”

     “Dan.”

     “And Sophie will lose her mind, besides.”

     PJ gripped Dan’s shoulders and forced Dan to stare into his eyes. “ _Thirty minutes_ , Dan. We’ll be back before they’ve cut the cake. Now get your ass in the car.”

* * *

     Dan had to admit that it was pure good karma that let him spot Phil in a train station that Sunday afternoon. He was stood there waiting with only two suitcases, within them the few things he’d deemed necessary enough to cart over the ocean. They were covered in peeling stickers of cats and flowers and lady bugs, and Dan wanted to cry.

     “Hey, asshole.”

     Phil turned around. He saw Dan and ducked his head, shaking it as he did. “I knew you’d come.”

     “Did you?”

     “You’re a dramatic bitch,” Phil said simply, fondly.

     “ _I_ am?” He came to stand before Phil, his eyebrows raised above a grin.

     “A Goddamn romantic,” confirmed Phil.

     “I guess one of us has to be,” Dan surmised. “This is our _Notting Hill_ moment. Not that I’ve ever seen it. But I imagine there’s some sort of emotional declaration of love that a crowd will stop to applaud.”

     “And that’s what this is?” Phil clarified. “A declaration of love?”

     “Could be.” Dan entwined his fingers with Phil’s.

     “Is that what would happen with us?” Phil asked. “Applause?”

     “That, or they’d throw rocks at us,” predicted Dan. Phil surprised himself by laughing so hard he had to put his face against Dan’s collarbone. He wasn’t too much taller, but it was just enough that Phil could be held and right now, that’s all he wanted. “Phil, I want you to know, I—”

     “Dan, stop.”

     “But you have to know that this wasn’t to convince you to stay,” Dan pushed on. “I’m not trying to keep you—”

     “Shut _up_.” Phil was crying, and he didn’t know if he could force his eyes to shut the fuck down. “I’m a grown man sobbing in a train station!” he complained, angry, but couldn’t be more grateful when Dan fastened him in his arms. “And I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

     “Shut up with that. You are going to be so brilliant, Phil, they won’t know what to do with you,” Dan promised. Phil looked up at Dan, and Dan knew that this was the moment he needed to just jump for it. In front of everyone, in spite of everyone, he secured his mouth onto Phil’s like it belonged there, because for the past 48 hours it had seemed to. Dan didn’t give a shit about anyone in that train station other than Phil, and he needed that to be clear. They knew they had to break apart when the whistle went off, but Phil didn’t release his hold. “You’ll be brilliant,” Dan whispered to him again.

     “I’ve got something for you,” Phil said then. He pulled a yellow posting envelope from his backpack. All that was scrawled onto it was _Dan_. “I forgot your surname,” he admitted sheepishly. It didn’t seem to matter, after everything. He kissed Dan again just for good measure, and it was almost harder to let go the second time. Phil didn’t say goodbye, and Dan didn’t yell it after him because he knew how much Phil would hate him for it. He didn’t watch him go, either. Dan turned around with that envelope in hand, and he went back to his goddaughter’s birthday party.

     She let him have the first piece of cake.

* * *

 

     It took Dan three days to find the nerve to open the envelope. He stood on his tiny balcony and cut it open, and the morning sunlight revealed a tape recorder. _Property of Phil Lester_ , it read, in handwriting too perfect to be any normal human’s. Had to be Phil’s. Dan hit play.

     _Like hell if I remember._

     _Shut up. You remember; don’t be dense, Dan._

     _We met at Retro Bar last night, obviously I recall that. I saw you there, stood at the counter._

_And? What then?_

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the movie 'Weekend' (2011) and I don't own Dan or Phil, if that required saying. Did you get my references? And the title is inspired by 'Interrupted by Fireworks,' a Final Fantasy song (so beautiful!) that Dan said was his favorite in like 2010 because of Phil. <3


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